


Performance Issues

by Hoodoo



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King, School of Rock (2003), School of Rock - Lloyd Webber/Slater/Fellowes
Genre: Angst, Choose Your Own Ending, Communication, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Lies, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25451833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Your boyfriend would like to have sex tonight, but you're just not feeling it.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Dewey Finn/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 32





	1. Start

**Author's Note:**

> This request came to me: "I've noticed you've written a few stories about Dewey having "performance issues", would you be comfortable writing one about Beej or Dew with a s/o who has similar problems?"
> 
> It was a combination of fun and frustrating to write-–not a bad frustration, just one borne of not knowing which way to end it! So after some thought + trial and error, I threw in the towel and opted to just write them both. Similar to another story I had done in the past ([Beetlejuice Squared 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22803097) ), you get your choice of endings.

You knew he wanted it tonight. There were subtle signs, like his gaze dipping down to your chest and licking his lips; there were not-so-subtle signs like a pinch to your ass and a shit-eating grin when you walked past him to get to the kitchen. When you returned, he pulled you down into his lap and kissed you as he groped under your shirt.

Giggling and arching your back because his rough fingers on your bare nipples felt good, you took his face in your hands and returned the kiss soundly. 

You’d have been fine leaving it at that, but the tenting of his fly and his eyes blown a shade darker made it clear that he’d like more. You were glad you turned him on. It was flattering. You liked it. Truthfully, you were aroused too with a burning ache in your belly, but there was also a sour nugget of worry lodged under it all.

When he hoisted himself up off the couch with you still in his arms, you shrieked with laughter and admonished him to stop, stop, put you down, he was going to hurt himself–

He shushed you with another kiss even as he carried you to the bedroom and tossed you down on the bed before flopping down beside you. The kiss broke for a second, but then he surged back in, latching his mouth onto yours.

Shucking clothing so fast sleeves were turned inside out and feet got caught in pant legs, he didn’t seem to be able to touch or kiss you enough. His cock sprang free and he humped against your hip, which earned him another giggle, then you slapped his chest playfully as you realized he’d smeared pre-come all over your skin. He grinned at you and made a lewd suggestion about showering together for round two after you were done here; you slapped his chest again as you rolled your eyes and called him a slut.

With his own laugh, he fullheartedly agreed.

All of it was fun, and you hoped that you could get away with just sucking him off. You actually rolled him over to his back and slithered down his front, leaving little red marks to show where your mouth had been, before settling between his thighs and holding his cock by the base. Licking a wide stripe up the underside of his erection, you grinned up at him as he gasped, then dropped your eyes and mouth at the same time, using your tongue as if he was candy.

You dragged out the blow job; going hard and fast for a moment, then slowing down and being teasingly gentle. His fingers tangled into the hair at the crown of your head and he gave gasps that stuttered their way into moans depending on the sensations you wrung out of him. 

When you were able, you glanced up his body at him. When he was able, he looked down at you. If your eyes met, he gave you a smile that always ended with a loosened jaw and a deep moan. 

You knew his tells. Thighs tensing, balls tight, grip in your hair almost painful, moans at a higher pitch–all that meant he was close. Several times you walked him almost to the point of no return, only to pull off his cock completely just to hear him whine as he came back down. Each time, though, it was easier and easier to get him almost to the peak. With his groin and pubic hair sopping with spit, his cock dark from the edging, this was the last time. You were going to suck him hard and deep and let him come in your mouth, you wanted to feel his cock pulse on your tongue as he came apart–

He yanked upward on your hair and twisted his hips so his thigh bumped your shoulder to dislodge you. You gasped at the unexpected movement. A string of thick saliva connected your lower lip to the head of his cock.

Immediately you tried to swallow him again, but he fought against it. Now you were the one who whined.

“W-wait, wait!” he panted. “Baby, I didn’t want this to be all for me! I wanna do you!”

You froze.

He ignored your sudden disconnect and pushed himself up. His cock, shiny from spit, bobbed between his upper thighs.

“Lay down, baby. I wanna use my mouth on you.”

You obeyed, even through your worry. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe tonight it would be okay.

He grinned again, that sappy, sweet smile you loved so much, and he settled into the same position you’d been in. He planted multiple kisses along the insides of your thighs and included a nip just to make you jump and squeeze your legs around his head.

Once you released him, he dove right in.

His tongue was wicked, lapping you from stem to stern, laving you with his own spit, moaning as he did. He sucked your clit until you wiggled and pushed yourself backwards along the mattress at the hard stimulation. He shoved his hands under your ass to raise your pelvis so he could more comfortably thrust his tongue inside your cunt like a thinner, lithe cock. 

It felt good. You liked it. He was good at it, and enjoyed it so much. He moaned with you, and when he needed to rest his jaw he slipped two fingers into you and watched with rapt attention as they appeared and disappeared inside you. He curled them towards your g-spot, gasping in anticipation as he did. He left them there, buried to his knuckles, and went back to lapping at your clit.

It felt good. You liked it. But it just wasn’t happening for you. Deep down, you knew no matter what he did tonight, it just wouldn’t. 

You should tell him. That’d be polite. That’d be responsible and adult. Just tell him you weren’t going to come. Amend that: just tell him that you liked it, that you loved every single thing he was doing, but you weren’t going to come. He’d understand.

You hoped.

Or you could fake it. It didn’t make you proud, but you could simply pretend that you came. Then he’d feel accomplished and yeah, it was a lie, but only a white lie. It’d spare his feelings; then you could get back to getting him off with your mouth or pussy and he’d be none the wiser.

You hoped.

You were torn. You needed to do something because he was still eating your pussy like it was a last meal, and it was going to get awkward if nothing at all happened. 

⁂

So, dear reader:

Do you lie?  
Or do you tell him the truth?

_tbc . . ._


	2. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dewey Finn

Deciding lying wasn’t the best route to take, you sighed and reached down to cup his cheek. 

“Hey. Hey,” you said to catch his attention.

“What is it, baby?” Dewey replied, looking up. There was a flush high on his cheeks.

Suddenly you were ashamed. “I … uh. I …”

His brow furrowed. “Seriously, baby. What’s up?”

You licked your lips and decided to soldier through. “I’m not … I don’t want you to think I’m not enjoying this! It feels really good! But …”

The furrow didn’t leave his face. “But?”

“ … but I’m not going to come,” you finished in a rush, with your eyes closed. You wished you could curl into a ball. 

You felt the mattress shifting as he hiked himself into a different position between your legs. On his elbows, it felt like. Further away from you.

“Was it something I did?”

You shook your head.

“Something I didn’t do?”

You shook it again.

You heard him sigh. “I don’t understand, baby.”

You continued to shake your head, because that seemed like the right thing to do. “There’s nothing to understand. I liked it, you were doing a good job, but I’m just not going to come.”

There was a long beat of silence, and you dared to open your eyes again.

Dewey was still looking perplexed, but when he saw you looking at him, he pushed himself up and out from between your legs. He hefted himself over one of your legs and settled next to your side.

“It wasn’t anything I did?” he repeated.

“No! Seriously, it felt good! Just, sometimes … I’m not going to finish.” He frowned then, and you knew he took that personally. You sat up and took his forearm. “I promise. Promise it is not your fault. It’s all me. Sometimes I just don’t … you know.”

He opened his mouth to say something more; you spoke over him.

“But I liked what we were doing! I want to keep going! Okay? I’m happy to use my mouth, or we can fuck-–”

Now it was his turn to shake his head. “No, I don’t want … I wanted to make you feel good too, baby, I didn’t want this to be a one-sided thing …”

Your heart sunk. That was exactly what you were afraid of, being truthful with him. That he was going to think it was his fault you weren’t going to come, and that he’d put the brakes on the whole thing.

Shifting your own position to mirror him laying on your side, you slipped a hand over his hip.

“Listen! Listen. I liked it. It felt good. It’s not you! Sometimes I just don’t feel like-–”

“If you don’t feel like it--if you don’t feel like having sex!-–then I don’t want to continue!” Dewey interrupted quickly.

One again you shook your head. “No, no no! You didn’t let me finish my sentence! Sometimes I just don’t feel like _I’m going to come,_ not that I wasn’t enjoying what we were doing! I know that men think getting off the is ultimate end goal of sex because they always come, and when they do, it’s over. But just because women don’t always come doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy it!”

He was gearing up to argue about calling the whole thing off again. You could tell. But your admission pulled him up short as he processed them.

“I don’t think that! I don’t think sex is over if I come!” he protested. 

“But we don’t do anything else after you do,” you countered. “You come, and we’re done.” 

That also made him stop. His mouth closed with a snap. 

“That isn’t the point right now,” you said as his gaze drifted away with introspection. “That’s a whole other discussion! Right now we’re talking about continuing having sex, and if you’d prefer for me to finish you off with my mouth, or if you want to fuck!”

It took another moment for him to re-focus on you again. You hadn’t removed your hand from his hip, and the arm he wasn’t using to support himself with slipped under yours, to your back. He still looked unconvinced.

“I wanted this to be for both of us, baby …”

You sighed and squeezed the flesh under your palm. “It is! I like it. I don’t know how to make you understand that it feels good even if I don’t get off. But if it helps, I can just do you so you don’t have to worry if what you’re doing is working for me.”

You put the word ‘working’ in air quotes and added a smile. Dewey sighed too and managed to give you a bit of a smile in return.

“I don’t know … “

He didn’t need to say that. It was obvious he wasn’t completely buying it or convinced; his erection had waned. A bolt of sadness shot through you.

“I’m sorry!” you apologized quickly. “I know you wanted to get something going tonight, and I’m fine with that! I’m happy to continue! I just … wanted you to know what was going on. I didn’t mean to break the mood or upset you or bring everything to a screeching halt!”

The weight of your decision to come clean brought tears to your eyes. You didn’t want him to think it was his fault. You didn’t want to stop. Yet here you were, with a doubtful partner beside you and no sex. You’d managed to thoroughly mess up this evening and you felt horrible about it. You wiped the tears off your face. 

“Hey, hey now,” Dewey said. “Don’t do that. I appreciate you telling me this. Seriously.”

You glanced up at him. The smile he wore this time was fuller, and he surged in to kiss you.

“What if-–” He kissed you again, and rolled you over so he was half on top of you. His semi-flaccid cock pressed against your side. “–-what if this was just a warm up? A little tease. What if we stop right now, and pick up again later? Or tomorrow. Maybe starting and stopping like this could be fun.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So basically, nothing more tonight even though you didn’t get off, so you’ll be thinking non-stop about sex until we do it again?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you telling me that, with what we did tonight, you aren’t going to be thinking non-stop about sex until we do it again?”

You considered this, and realized he was right. You admitted as much.

“You got me. I’m going to be thinking about you and your dick, and how I like to suck it, and how I like it when its inside me–”

“Okay, okay, easy there on that dirty talk or ‘later’ is going to be in like five minutes,” he laughed, even as he kissed you again.

You laughed with him and wrapped an arm around his head to keep him close, and returned the deep kiss eagerly. 

_fin_


	3. Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beetlejuice

Quickly, before you overthought it, you grabbed at his messy hair, canted your hips upward into his mouth, bumping his chin, and cried out. Your legs shook, you continued to rock your pelvis, you moaned … you continued in the same way for a few moments, then you let yourself relax like you were coming down from a high. As you sank into the mattress, you gradually released his head and sighed. 

From between your legs, Beetlejuice looked over your stomach at you. Through your faux panting, you smiled at him. After wiping his mouth and chin with his hand, he scooted back up the bed and lay atop you, holding himself up a bit with his knees. He rested his head on your chest for a bit as you pushed your fingers through his hair.

It was a good performance, you thought.

You cleared your throat as if it were rough from the exclamations you’d given, and wiggled against him in invitation.

“Ready for more?” you asked him.

“Are you?” the demon replied, picking his head up to look at you.

“Of course!”

“Really?”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the return question, and the serious look that’d settled on his face. “Yes, really! Come on, sweetie, you’re already between my legs-–”

“Did you just come?”

“What?” Your response was automatic and, you hoped, sounded naturally confused. Inside, however, a fist clenched.

Beetlejuice stared down at you, and now his expression was unreadable. You laughed, a little and hoped it didn’t sound too strained. There was a lot of stuff riding on ‘hope’ right now, and it did not feel good.

“Did you just come? Did you just have an orgasm?” he repeated, and then clarified it as if you didn’t know what he was asking exactly. 

You wet your lips. Just that little movement, just that one little involuntary lip lick, and he had his answer. You watched his face darken with a frown and a hardening come to his eyes. You licked your lips again–stop it, body! Stop giving indications you were nervous!–and tried to salvage it.

“It felt so good! I liked, I _loved_ what you were doing! I–-”

_“Did you orgasm?”_ he demanded in a growl.

“I, I-–”

He broke into your stuttering response again. “Because it _sounded_ like you orgasmed. You _acted_ like you orgasmed. But your heart wasn’t beating very fast _like_ you’d orgasmed when I put my head on your chest.”

The organ he just mentioned, the one you couldn’t control, dropped to your stomach. You swallowed. 

His dark eyes searched your face. With your cheeks burning hot, you didn’t even try to answer any of his accusations. There was color high on his face too, but it wasn’t from arousal any longer; it was anger. His lips pulled back from his teeth, not into their usual winsome smile, but twisted into a snarl. 

“You fucking lied! You didn’t come! Why did you lie to me?!” he roared.

Trapped underneath him, the rush of his anger startled, then scared you. Any worry you had about a physical reaction was put to rest, though, as he threw himself off you. That didn’t negate his rage, however.

“What the fuck?” he demanded, staring hard at you. “You faked your orgasm?! Why would you do that?”

You sat up too, to feel less vulnerable, although you were scared to put a hand on him. “I’m sorry! It’s just-–it’s stupid but sometimes I’m just not going to come-–it feels good and I like it but I’m just not going to finish, so–”

“So you fucking _lie_ to me?” he interrupted. “You fucking _lie_ and _pretend_ to get me to stop?”

Beetlejuice ran his hand through his hair, hard. You could see him yank a little bit of it too, as if a little physical pain to himself was fueling him, or distracting him, or … you didn’t know what, but you didn’t particularly like it. You dared to put a trembling hand on his arm, now, to stop him from doing it again.

“Hey, no, that’s not it, that’s not it at all-–”

He jerked away from your touch and your hand stayed up for a moment, in your uncertainty.

“How many times?!”

You shook your head in confusion at his latest question and dropped you hand. “How many-–?”

_“How many times have you faked an orgasm?”_ he spat at you, enunciating each word as if he thought you were stupid because you made him repeat it. “How many times have you _lied_ to me? Every time? Is it every time? Do you lie every time? Do you hate having sex with me? Is this some kind of joke to you?”

His repeated use of the word lied and his rapid-fire, angry questions made tears fill your eyes. Your nose burned, your throat felt like it was closing up. The tremble in your hand traveled throughout your body, so even your legs were shaking.

“I don’t, I don’t … please, I don’t-–”

His rage couldn’t be contained, again. “You don’t ,i>what? You don’t fake orgasms? Were you going to say ‘you don’t lie to me’–-be careful, because if you say that, you’re _still_ lying to me!”

At this point you knew anything you would say wouldn’t help. Yes, you had pretended to orgasm before. No, it wasn’t all the time. It was only occasionally, when you just weren’t going to finish; you did it because it made him so happy, so pleased to give you pleasure and to share in your pleasure. You did it so he didn’t feel like he wasn’t doing a good job. You did it so he didn’t feel like you didn’t like what the two of you did. You did it for _him._ If he would just let you explain, you could make him understand!

But he was so upset. You would have never expected him to be so upset! That wasn’t your intention at all-–

In your silence, he stewed. Words tumbled through your head: that you were sorry, that you made a mistake, please please let’s talk … but before you were able to come up with something, but before you could put them together and actually have the guts to let them spill from your lips, he pulled his hair again and gave an inarticulate bellow of angry frustration.

The noise startled you and you pulled your knees up to your chest to make yourself smaller and get outside the range of his ire. There was still no physicality to him; after the full-throated roar he just turned to you. Even more startling than the sound he just expressed were the tears you saw in his eyes. 

“Why did you lie to me?!” he choked.

The pain in his voice broke you and you sobbed. Usually when you cried he comforted you, but this time he simply looked at his hands, now in his lap. Through your own blurry vision you didn’t miss the tears falling onto them.

After a second, when you couldn’t find your voice enough to give him the courtesy of an answer, he wiped at his face. Without another word, he stood up, snagged a few random articles of clothing from the floor where they’d fallen in the haste to remove them, and walked out of the bedroom.

Beetlejuice didn’t spare you a second glance.

Falling to your side on the mattress, you buried your head in a pillow and sobbed openly. 

_fin_


End file.
